


Draco's Lost Days

by ln4747



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Big Dick Draco, Brazil, Crack, Draco really needs a wank, F/M, Parody, References to Blink-182, Set in The Auction Universe, Socks, Wilson the Quaffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27951266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ln4747/pseuds/ln4747
Summary: We didn't know where Draco was....until now.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 49
Kudos: 90





	Draco's Lost Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LovesBitca8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovesBitca8/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Auction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101535) by [LovesBitca8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovesBitca8/pseuds/LovesBitca8). 



> WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE AUCTION, especially Chapters 36, 39 & 41\. If you have not read The Auction by LovesBitca8, I suggest you shut this down and go read that first (and preferably TRTTD and ATWT before that, as there are references to those two works in here as well).
> 
> HUGE HUGE thank you to LovesBitca8 for letting me write in her magnificent universe, to raven_maiden for her enthusiastic encouragement and support & for reading the first draft (BDD is for you, as always), and to the lovely humans on Discord who inspired this ridiculous crack fic (including shellyshelby (& the TV show Avatar the Last Airbender) for the title, and magical_traveler for the Castaway reference).
> 
> This is my first fic so I am shaking as I publish this but I hope you enjoy!!! <3
> 
> Edit: OH MY GOSH the incredible shellyshelby has made an aesthetic for this fic, THANK YOU SO MUCH.

  


**4 May 1999**

I’m on my knees in the bedroom and it’s Weasley of all people who’s got his wand on me. I close my eyes and begin to build my walls.

Granger is laying her body in front of me — screaming, of course — thinking she can save me, thinking if she begs her ex-boyfriend enough he’ll let me go. I crack open my eyes.

“Don't,” I manage. “Don't, Granger. Go look after my mother.”

I take my last look at Granger, at _Hermione_ , and drink her in. I’m never going to see her again. Never see her eyes, her breasts, her hair. My gigantic dick twitches as my mind drifts to her velvety folds and I use one of my Occlumency bricks to smash it into submission.

I’m almost fully Occluded when I hear my name. 

“Draco.”

I refocus on Hermione and see her by my nightstand. A small object flies in the air, and it’s lucky I was the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever seen. I have reflexes like a _cat_. Actually, probably better than a cat. I have reflexes like Lucius Malfoy when he realizes his only heir is about to impregnate Hermione Granger. The thought of the near-impregnation causes my massive dick to twitch again, and I can barely manage to tame it when I lock eyes with Hermione and realize what I am about to catch with my super-powerful Seeker instincts. I feel the tug behind my navel while I am still marveling at my ability to multitask Occluding my enormous dick whilst catching a tiny marble that will save me from certain death.

***

My feet slam into pine needles.

“Ow!” I shout. “Dammit!” I hop from foot to foot, trying to shake off the prickly feeling. I really should have kept my socks on. Nothing good ever comes from being without socks.

I take a deep breath and take sock — I mean, stock — of my situation. I’m mostly naked and I have no wand. At least I had the foresight to put on trunks. _But why didn’t I put on my socks?_ I seem to be standing at the edge of a forest, right next to the abandoned mill that Severus told me about. Despite being May, it’s the middle of the night so it is fucking freezing. My gargantuan dick is so cold it’s trying to crawl back into my body to find some warmth.

As soon as I think about warmth, I think of Hermione and her soft curves and her warm core. My immense dick twitches at the thought of her, but due to the cold it’s more like the shiver of a mouse caught between a hunk of cheese and a hawk. I’m feeling confused, and throw another Occlumency brick at my hefty dick to calm it down.

Severus had mentioned a hotel called Railview just south of here, and I think I see it — a worn-down shack with what appears to be a leaking tin roof and a crooked sign pronouncing it the “Ra-l Vi-w Ho-el.” I bark out a laugh. No way am I staying at that hovel. I’m a Malfoy, after all.

But also I am fucking freezing.

“I wish there was some c-c-creature around here that could sh-sh-share its warmth with me,” I shiver to myself, peering into the darkness.

 _Pop_. Big green eyes blink in the darkness.

“Master called?”

“Kreacher!” I cry in triumph. I hadn’t even thought of summoning Kreacher. I mean, of course I meant to. I am a fucking genius.

“K-K-K-Kreacher,” I chatter. “Can you Apparate us somewhere? Is there a limit to how far we can go?”

Kreacher stares at me in disdain. “Kreacher can Apparates us anywhere,” he replies evenly.

I rack my brain to think of where we can go. We have properties in the U.K., of course, as well as France, Monaco, America, Brazil, and Japan. Plus the secret properties in Romania, Iceland, Antarctica, Greenland, Russia, Siberia and the North Pole under Santa’s workshop. I shiver again and my brain conjures warm sand, palm trees, and a sunny breeze. And the 5,000-year-old cachaça I shared with Father on my third birthday.

“Kreacher, take us to the property in Brazil.”

_Pop._

***

We stumble onto a beach in the pitch black.

“What the fuck! I thought Brazil was sunny!” I hiss to Kreacher.

Kreacher blinks his big green eyeballs.

“Has Master studied time zones?” he asks. “Kreacher is knowing a lot about time zones. Night at home is more night in Brazil.”

I shake my head at the unhelpful elf and look down at my feet—covered in sand. _Fuck,_ I could really use a pair of socks.

I turn my eyes to the ocean, where I feel the pull of my blood and my heritage singing in my veins. I close my eyes, lift my hands, and intone “All the small things. True care truth brings. Say it ain't so, I will not go. Turn the lights off, carry me home.”

To be honest, I’ve never really thought about the words to access my ancestral home, but I swear I heard them when I was raiding a Muggle department store in Switzerland last year. Weird.

Before I can fully contemplate the meaning of this, tiny particles of sand begin to shake, the pitch blackness somehow becomes even darker, and Malfoy Manor (Brazil Edition)(™) rises out of the sea. A gentle breeze deposits us on the verandah, where I pluck up a pair of red and gold socks covered in snitches from the welcome basket by the door. Finally! My feet are encased in woolly goodness. Normally I would detest the Gryffindor colors of the socks, but they make me think of my dear Gryffindor whom I’ve left behind in Malfoy Manor.

I think of her lips, her arse in those Muggle denims, her small hands as they clutch my chest. My whale of a cock twitches and practically begs me to go back to Wiltshire. I mentally grab yet another Occlumency brick — this time it’s a decorative brick shaped like a circle — and hurl it towards my crotch. It whines in defeat.

Kreacher side-eyes me and I decide it’s probably time for bed. I march past the line of marble Malfoy men busts creepily lined up by the door and tuck myself into my favorite bedroom.

**6 May 1999**

I wake up to sunshine and a sea breeze, just like I had promised myself. I’m smiling and stretching, glad to finally be on vacation and sleeping for days like I used to, when I suddenly remember why I’m here.

“Fuck!” I shout. I slam my hand against the wall in frustration, then reach to pick up the nearest priceless antique so I can throw it.

_Pop_. 

“Master, stop!” squeaks Kreacher, appearing out of nowhere and displaying more emotion than I’ve ever seen from him. “That chalice is from the 16th century!”

I pivot mid-reach and grab a white sphere instead. It crashes against the far wall of my bedroom in an extremely unsatisfying, non-breaking way. I growl in frustration and lean to pick up something else when the sphere rolls back towards me and I notice...something.

There’s a smear of red on the front of the sphere—no, it’s a ball, kind of like a Quaffle—and I’m confused what it is until I look at my hand and realize it’s bleeding. The bloody wall (literally, and figuratively) is made of fucking glass. Ha, ha, ha, ye Malfoys of olde.

I peer closer at the white Quaffle. The way that the blood has smeared on the ball looks a little...womanly. If I squint my eyes, I see a hint of a curl, a brush of a smirk. I take my bleeding thumb and add a few more curls to each side. I enhance the bosom and draw in heady eyes. I stare at the image lovingly. In the right light, if I close my left eye and look at it over my right shoulder, it’s Hermione. My dear Hermione.

I turn the white Quaffle over to keep drawing and blink. _Wilson_ , it says. I have no idea what that means, but when I turn the ball back to her face, I see Hermione. _Wilson_. Hermione. _Wilson_. Hermione. _Wilmoine._

Wilmione is beautiful. Just enough like my love to keep me sated, but different enough that I’ll remember it’s not her.

I prop Wilmione on the bedside table, ignore the fact that Kreacher is still in the room, and grab my oversize dick for a wank.

 _Pop_.

**5 June 1999**

I’d been having a nice time in Brazil drinking caipirinhas on the beach, learning to dance Samba, and watching football, but by the time my birthday comes around I am a mess. Wilmione has been keeping me and my copious amount of dick company all night and every half hour during the day, but it’s not enough. I feel like a piece of my heart is missing. And my hand is rubbed raw (only partially from the glass wall.)

I stumble out of bed and find Kreacher washing my socks in the kitchen sink.

He peers at me, then his eyes narrow. “Master is looking bad. Master is needing a wank.”

I glare at him. “I’ve had one of those, thank you.”

“Master is needing a second one.”

“I've had one of those, thank you.”

“Kreacher is surprised. By this time Master is usually having at least 15 of them.”

I glare harder at him. “Shut it, Kreacher. All I want for my birthday is Granger. Or at least a picture of her so I can wank to it.”

I stomp out of the house and slam the door.

**10 June 1999**

I’m heading out to the verandah to enjoy my cup of coffee (a specialty in Brazil, not to mention it reminds me of Hermione, which means every sip I take causes my mondo cock to twitch in my trunks) when I notice something odd.

The line of marble busts of my Malfoy brethren seems to have grown.

I samba over (got to keep practicing, or I’ll never fit in here) to investigate. As I round the corner, my heart palpitates, my voluminous cock twitches, and I drop my coffee cup.

 _She’s here_. 

Hermione’s face stares back at me, her skin smooth, her hair wild. A soft smile on her lips. A knowing gleam in her eyes, like she knows what I’ve been doing with Wilmione behind her back. I make a silent vow to cut things off with Wilmione tonight.

“Kreacher!” I shout.

 _Pop_.

“You rang, Master?” Kreacher yawned.

“Did you— did you get this bust of Hermione for me for my birthday? All I asked for was a picture.” A giddy grin is threatening to overtake my features. “Oh, Kreacher! This is more than I ever could have asked for!”

I sweep Kreacher into a hug before I can contain myself.

Kreacher struggles and squeaks, “Master is putting Kreacher down this instant!”

I drop him onto his arse.

“Sorry, Kreacher,” I whisper. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into me. I think I might be going mad.”

Kreacher side-eyes me. (He’s been doing that a lot lately.) 

“Kreacher is not saysing anything.”

 _Pop_.

**1 August 1999**

I’ve spent the last six weeks slowly constructing the rest of Hermione’s body from the marble bust. It’s been hard because I still don’t have a wand and I’ve never done manual labor in my life. Also because every time I get a single aspect of Hermione’s body to scale my prodigious cock twitches and I have to run back to my bedroom for a wank.

This happens more often than I’d like, only because Wilmione is in the bedroom and I swear Hermione knows what’s going on.

Finally, though, it’s complete. I have transformed the bust of Hermoine into a full goddess statue. Her breasts seem to tremble in the breeze. Her arse strains the denims that I lifted from the Muggle market down the road. As I stare at it, her smooth skin and soft smile draw me in. Her hips wiggle and I can hear her begging for me.

My stupendous cock twitches, and I’m exactly where I want to be.

**28 August 1999**

I finally remember Kreacher can Apparate across oceans and ask him to fetch the _Daily Prophet._

“Why is Master forgetting about Kreacher’s Apparation skillz,” Kreacher mutters as he readies himself to Apparate. “I is able to take us to the moon, if Master wishes.”

He rolls his eyes and vanishes with a _Pop._

I munch my toast and have just lifted my coffee to my lips when I hear _Pop_ and see the newspaper appear under my eyes.

“Wha—!?” I sputter, coffee spewing from my lips and giving Kreacher what is likely his first bath in a decade. He glares daggers at me but I couldn’t care less.

_HERMIONE GRANGER TAKES THE STAND: "I LOVE HIM STILL"_

I freeze, with the crust of my toast still dangling from my lips. My herculean dick gives an enormous thump.

“She...she loves me.”

I screw my eyes up, every fiber of my being trembling to run to Kreacher and ask him to use his most perfect, incredible Apparation skillz to take me to her arms, but I know I mustn't. I read the article below the headline and realize I am on trial.

I hope my fucking goddess of a lover exonerates me so I can go home and fuck her.

**2 September 1999**

My fucking goddess of a lover has exonerated me, so I am going home to fuck her.

**3 September 1999**

I have no idea where my fucking goddess of a lover is, so I send Kreacher to investigate.

For some reason, he takes offense when I suggest he wear the hag costume that I’ve been keeping in the basement.

“Kreacher is not a hag!” he hisses, before grabbing the worn cloak and disappearing with a _Pop_.

**4 September 1999**

Kreacher reported back that Hermione is now working at Cornerstone Bookshop. Funny. I used to love going there and spying on her back when life was simpler and my dick wasn’t so monumental.

“Kreacher!” I shout. “Fetch me my traveling cloak. And my traveling shoes.”

I hear a _bop_ and a _bang_ and a _bam_ and hurry to investigate. Kreacher is lost in the hall closet, it appears.

He emerges slowly with a black Muggle traveling coat and turquoise Muggle crocs.

“To show off your socks,” he explains.

I hurriedly don the attire, bid my farewells to Wilmione, Hermione (the statue), and Malfoy Manor (Brazil Edition)(™), and reach for Kreacher. We Disapparte with a _Pop_.

***

I face the door, throw back my shoulders, pop my collar, and reach for the door. My immeasurable dick twitches in anticipation. This time, I leave my Occlumency bricks on the ground.

  
  



End file.
